


Playlist

by copperbadge



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Finding Bucky, M/M, Music, Pop Culture, lacks continuity after CATWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: A lot of songs have been written about Captain America. Sam owns most of them. Steve's relationship with them (Steve's relationship with everything) is complicated. orSam and Steve explore pop culture and pine for each other while trying to rescue Steve's messed-up best friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> None of these songs are real, more's the pity. 
> 
> This story was written prior to Civil War, and I haven't been following AoS; this picks up where The Winter Soldier left off and ignores all canon after that.
> 
>  **Warnings:** One use of a homophobic slur.

**Jimi Hendrix - The Stripes (instrumental)**

Steve didn't mean to snoop.

Sam's been really good to him, even aside from all the superhero stuff. Well, obviously the superhero stuff too -- Sam strapped a pair of wings on his back and risked his _life_ for Steve. Or, more accurately, for America, but he was there in the first place because of Steve and his inability to keep his messes in-house or to see what was happening under his nose. 

Steve doesn't blame himself for Hydra taking over SHIELD, but he struggles not to blame himself for not catching it sooner. 

But Sam's also just plain been a good person to Steve. He's helped him a lot with -- with personal stuff. So the point is, he didn't mean to snoop around in Sam's iPod. It was just that Steve was staying with Sam while he looked for a new place (his building told him he was not welcome back after he got the place shot up, and SHIELD is obviously not going to help him find another) and he ran out of new music. 

Sam has a music library that in the old days would have filled rooms, but there it is, all on one magic little device. Steve loves iPods and StarkPhones and even Sam's high-definition Hammer brand TV. Justin Hammer made bad bombs but apparently he made pretty good televisions. And Sam's musical taste has never failed Steve yet. 

So he was startled to scroll through Sam's iPod and come up with a playlist titled simply "Cap". Maybe Sam was prepping a new playlist for him, he thought, and he plugged the iPod into the speakers and hit play. 

 

**Bruce Springsteen - All American Boy**

Sam comes home from the grocery store and he knows he's in trouble when he sees Steve sitting at the kitchen island, eyes on his folded hands, listening to Springsteen's "All American Boy".

Man, Sam doesn't even like Springsteen that much, this is so unfair.

_He was an all-American boy_  
_Born in the poorest side of town_  
_Depression raging outside his door_  
_Starving on the fourth of July_

"Guess you found my playlist," Sam says when the bridge starts. He sets down the groceries. "You weren't supposed to see that."

Steve looks up at him, and his voice is faintly strangled. "These songs are all about me."

"Yeah."

"I didn't think they were at first, but...they're all about me."

"I know you know they made movies and art. You're shocked they wrote songs about you too?"

Steve looks down again. "No. Shocked was hearing Madonna sing 'I Never Danced With You' for the first time."

Sam winces. "Sorry."

"Not your fault, I shouldn't have snooped."

"I made it for you. I was gonna show it to you, I just thought maybe you already knew. And if you didn't..." Sam shrugs. "Never seemed like the right time." 

Springsteen wails into the mic. 

_I'm an all-American boy_  
_Walking down the streets he walked_  
_Ragin' through the darkest nights_  
_Where's the Captain this July_

"There are dozens of them," Steve says.

"Hundreds, if you count the covers."

There's a soft snort from Steve. Sam decides normal is best; he starts putting the groceries away.

"So, you hear 'Call Me Captain America' yet?" he asks.

"No. Who sang that one?"

"N'Sync. You'll laugh. It's funny. Stupid, but funny," Sam says. 

Steve switches the iPod off. "Maybe some other time," he says quietly. 

 

**Beyonce - Same Old War (Cover)**

As if to fuck with them, Beyonce drops an album the following week. As far as Sam knows, Steve hasn't listened to the Cap playlist again, so he might not even have heard Marvin Gaye's 'Same Old War'. It was a single, and it wasn't on any of his more popular albums. 

Queen Bey knows what she's doing. Sam wants to put the whole album on repeat for days. Steve likes a lot of the songs -- Sam's heard him singing 'Pretty Hurts' in the shower. And Beyonce's cover of the old Gaye soul classic is exquisite. 

But Beyonce's 'Same Old War' is now _everywhere_ , because it's shockingly timely. All the DJs play it, it's on the radio in the car, it's on the speakers in restaurants. It's beautiful, and Steve's struggling, Sam can tell. 

_He still fightin' the same old war_  
_Tell me Captain what you fightin' for?_  
_Fightin' so some people can be free;_  
_Captain, were you fightin' for me?_

It's awful in part because Sam knows Steve _was_ fighting for him -- Steve ran the first integrated unit, Steve actually spoke out on newsreels against segregation (though those never made it to the movie theaters, Sam's seen the archival footage). Steve is a man of the highest ideals, and the Captain that Marvin Gaye was singing about wasn't really even Captain America. Gaye was just using the symbol to remind the country that there were people still in bondage. Beyonce is doing the same. 

But for Steve...

_New country but the same old war_  
_And the Captain looks like he did before._  
_Captain when we gonna be free_  
_Of war and hate and poverty?_

"Does it bother you?" Steve asks, when the song comes on while they're having lunch out one day. Steve thought he'd found someone who could give him a lead on Bucky, but it fell through, so Sam treated him to burgers. 

"What, the song?" Sam asks.

Steve shakes his head. "The fact that it's still true," he says. "I mean. She wouldn't sing it if...if people in this country didn't still need to hear it. That's pretty bad, isn't it? Forty, fifty years since it was written, you're still having to deal with racist trash."

Sam stares at him. "Is that what bugs you?" 

"About the song?" Steve squints at him. "Why did you think it bothered me?"

"Oh, you know..." Sam gestures with his burger. "All that time you lost. Or that Marvin Gaye thought you weren't fighting for the right causes."

Steve blinks at him. "Oh. I never thought about that. I mean, in terms of the song. I just thought...I just wish more folks had been better about fixing things, after I was gone." 

"I see why Gabe Jones liked you," Sam says. Steve flushes, pleased, and Beyonce sings on.

 

**Sting - Unmarked Grave**

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have headstones next to each other at Arlington, with a marble slab spanning both that reads BROTHERS IN SACRIFICE IN THE VALIANT STRUGGLE AGAINST TYRANNY. Neither of the headstones have bodies under them, of course, because both men are still walking around in said bodies, but whenever Unmarked Grave plays, someone has to fucking point out that they _do have_ headstones. 

_I went looking for an unmarked grave_  
_In the heart of winter, in the deep white snow_  
_I went looking for a body_  
_Nothing to say, nothing to show_

It's bullshit, saying that they have graves, because their actual graves -- the riverbed for Bucky, the ice shelf for Steve -- were unmarked. And everyone knows that, so if you make that kind of crack you're just an asshole who wants attention. 

A magazine wanted to do a photo shoot of Steve sitting on his headstone. Steve hung up on them. 

"Was he a soldier?" he asks Sam.

"Who?"

Steve points at the speakers. He's put the Cap playlist on again, but he never listens to more than a song or two before he changes it.

"Sting?" Sam laughs. "No, man, he was a history teacher."

"Oh," Steve says thoughtfully. "Maybe that explains it."

_I went looking for an unmarked grave_  
_But spring's thaw washed it underground_  
_I couldn't find the Captain_  
_So I left a flower, I left a stone_

"Explain what?" Sam asks.

Steve gives a half-hearted shrug. "I just think he gets something about it, about the whole...lostness of not having a body to bring home. It's nice that he wanted to leave flowers on my grave. Not many people seem to care about that."

 

**Toby Keith - Jesus And Steve Rogers**

Steve has to do television appearances now. Well, not has to. But he thinks maybe if Bucky sees him on the TV, he'll make contact.

Sam stands backstage and rubs his face repeatedly as Steve grows ever more impatient with the interviewer. It's not noticeable if you don't know the guy, but Sam knows his tells now. 

"So, we hear you're catching up on the music of the past century," the interviewer says. His voice drips with condescention. 

"My buddy Sam, he's helping me out," Steve replies. 

"This would be the Falcon?"

"Yes, sir. There's a lot to learn about, Sam's been good about teaching me." 

"Including songs about you?"

"Yeah -- oh, wow, like Beyonce? Same Old War? Great stuff," Steve says, and the interviewer looks pinched.

"Have you heard 'Jesus And Steve Rogers'?" he asks.

"Yes, I heard that one," Steve says. "By -- by Toby Keith, right?"

"What did you think of it?" 

_Ain't much more you need than a bible and a flag_  
_If you don't respect the one_  
_The other'll see you bad_  
_When I get to heaven, my boys'll be waiting for me_  
_Jesus and Steve Rogers_  
_For America the free_

Steve hates to say bad things about anyone, but Sam has heard Steve's private opinion of the cottage industry of country-western songs about him. Some -- a precious few -- are amazing. Most are...not what Steve could wish for. 

"I don't much care to be put up next to Jesus," Steve says finally. "I don't think that's right. And I don't think Jesus would think some of the things from that song. I certainly don't." 

"Like what?" 

"Well, I don't imagine we put articles about religious freedom in the Constitution unless we meant them," Steve says. 

The interviewer changes the subject quickly, but it hits Twitter and doesn't stop until Toby Keith declares anyone who'd say that isn't _his_ Captain America.

Steve reads about that and says to Sam, "Is there any legal reason I can't have a Twitter?" 

Sam grins. "Not a damn one I can think of."

The war of tweets between Toby Keith and Steve Rogers goes on for days, and Keith gains the reputation of the man who called Captain America a son of a bitch, which doesn't do him any favors -- even with his own demographic. 

 

**Irving Berlin - Lights Over The Ice**

Steve isn't a fool. He did the PR circuit selling bonds, and he's been through a war. So he's pretty good at fightin' things out in public, he's good at _being_ in public, even if he doesn't necessarily like it.

_I haven't got a lot to say_  
_About the generals today_  
_They send other mothers' boys to war_  
_We hardly know what_  
_We're fighting for_  
_If you ask me what we require_  
_Is a hero to which we all aspire_  
_I say bring a good old Captain back --_  
_Sadly since the war_  
_There's been a lack_

After the Toby Keith War, Twitter doesn't backfire on Steve, precisely, but it's very different from what he's done before. He has to make peace with not being able to read absolutely every message from every person or respond to all of them. Half of them are just asking him to wish them a happy birthday or something, anyway. What is he, a happy birthday machine?

(He does a few, randomly, because if he'd got a personal Happy Birthday message from his childhood hero when he was a kid, he'd have been over the moon, and more joy is always better than less.) 

_Listening to Irving Berlin's Lights Over The Ice this morning, think it's my favorite song about Captain America so far_ he tweets one morning from the kitchen at Sam's place. He's satisfied with the world -- back from a good run, Sam's making omelettes, and the whole day is laid out ahead of him, waiting to be filled. 

_Light some lights over the ice_  
_Where Captain America lies_  
_And if we can't find him_  
_Can't put our boys behind him_  
_Let's remember his good name_  
_Truth and justice, but never fame_

The replies are mostly positive, including some photos of people who own the sheet music. 

_Faggot music_ one person tweets, and Steve rolls his eyes. Honestly. 

_No time for hate speech. If you've got something evil to say, feel free to show yourself out of my twitter_ , he tweets without referencing it, because he won't dignify bigots with replies. 

 

**Joan Jett - Blue Boy**

They find Bucky. Briefly. 

Steve did his research before he went after Hydra again. He gathered intel, carefully, both from his own hastily-built contacts and the files that appear in Sam's mailbox or on Steve's computer (gifts from Natasha, Steve calls them, though Sam thinks some of them are from Fury). 

Their second time out, when Sam's getting used to feeling the old rush of combat adrenaline again, he sees a Hydra booby trap before Steve does -- possibly because Steve's about to walk into it. He yells, not loudly enough. Steve whips around -- 

But not because Sam yelled. 

_Blue boy got trouble in one hand_  
_A gun in the other and a shield on his back_  
_But down here he's just another dancing man_  
_Lace-up red boots and a tattoo of a flag_

Sam dives, frantic, when he sees the Soldier running towards Steve. Steve's got the Soldier on one side of him and the rigged door leading into the heart of the Hydra compound on the other, and there are still at least three Hydra soldiers unaccounted-for at this base. 

Steve yells "Bucky!" and the Soldier grabs him and throws him sidelong, right before a hail of bullets pours through the rigged door. Sam grabs them and snaps the rig upwards, Steve's arm over his shoulder, the Winter Soldier clinging to his other arm. The wings creak and strain, but they get him and his two charges up to safety, and then far enough away from the base for them to triage the damage. Steve's bruised, but it's already fading. The Soldier's bleeding sluggishly.

_Blue boy you wanna dance with Miss America_  
_Too bad all you get is what's on_  
_The American dream rolled through and gone_

"Hospital," Steve says, as Sam staunches the blood with strips of his shirt. "He needs -- "

The Soldier's hand darts out super fast, catching Steve's wrist. 

"Get them," he rasps. Steve blinks. "Get them. I'll heal."

"Bucky, we can't just -- "

"Hey, it's them or him, and he's saying them," Sam says. "He just got grazed. He should be fine."

"I'm not leaving Bucky!"

"Fine, gimme your gun," Sam holds out his hand. "I'll go after them. We can't let them leave here. You know there are biological weapons down there." 

Steve seems to hesitate a split second, then says to the Soldier, "Don't go anywhere," and throws his arm around Sam's shoulder's again. 

They take out the base completely, but when they get back, there's just some dried blood where the Soldier was. 

 

**Bob Dylan - Impossible Boys**

Steve sulks for days, and Sam leaves him at first, assuming he'll improve, but he doesn't. He gets worse. And the minute Sam hears Bob Dylan on the speaker in the guest room, that's the minute he decides that boy needs some sense slapped into him. 

Metaphorically, of course. Sam's not a violent man, his combat history to the contrary, and anyway slapping Steve would be like slapping wet concrete. It leaves a mark, but it hurts you worse. 

_One was a giant running along_  
_And one was a man with a rifle in hand_  
_And how impossible must they have been_  
_The impossible boys and their wartime song_

Sam walks into Steve's room and switches the music off. He sits down on the bed where Steve is lying. 

"Most people don't know Impossible Boys is about Captain America," Sam says. "Some people still don't think it is." 

"It isn't," Steve says from the bed.

"Not only," Sam allows. "But it is. There's only a couple of songs that mention Barnes. Dylan's is the only popular one. Only one that's any good if you ask me." 

_Ate legends for dinner like cans of beans_  
_Smiled for the cameras and laughed for their fans_  
_Led the charge like they'd live to a man_  
_What bright blood the boys have seen_

"Why would he go?" Steve asks. Sam considers the question.

"Maybe he's not ready for you yet," he says. Steve huffs. "Maybe he thinks you're not ready for him. Hard to disagree with him, you lying here like a lump."

"I'm not a lump."

"Lump."

"Fuck." Steve rubs his face and sits up. "What if he's right?"

"That you're not ready?"

Steve nods.

Sam shrugs. "Nobody's ready for something like this. He'll figure it out."

"What do I do, Sam?" Steve asks, and Sam knows a man at the end of his rope when he hears one. He leans forward and rests their foreheads together.

"Don't know," he admits. "But you won't be doing it alone." 

 

**The Clash - Fuck Captain America**

Steve actually really loves Fuck Captain America. It's like his motivation jam or something. Sam supposes he can understand. If you had an alter ego that everyone had an opinion on -- that was famous and maybe that people projected their own wants and needs onto -- maybe you'd hate him a little sometimes too. 

He knows when he hears the distant strains of the song coming from Steve's iPod as he gets ready to run in the morning that things are gonna be okay. Steve's getting back into the rhythm of their lives.

Their life, really. It's only been a month or two -- wow, almost three, actually -- but by now their lives are tied up into one, which should probably freak Sam out more. 

Anyway, Steve's blasting _Fuck Captain America_ and Tupac's _Dying On Ice_ and _Jackboot_ by the Dead Kennedys, which means he's working up that square-jawed, bright-eyed righteous rage thing he rocks that Sam is not going to admit gets him a little hot under the collar. 

Because this is Captain America. And Steve is probably straight even though he likes musicals. And also Sam swore off Army boys.

So they just go running with their headphones in and it's _fine_ and Sam doesn't say he hates to see Steve leave but he wants to watch him go, because another few laps and Steve will get back on the horse and they'll go find Bucky.

Steve's best friend.

Who needs his help. Their help. 

Sam swears under his breath as Steve laps him again. 

 

**Aretha Franklin - Liberation**

Hydra base number four, and Steve says, "Do you feel like these are being kinda handed to us?" as they surveil it from a distance.

"Little bit," Sam agrees.

"Who do you suppose wants us distracted?"

"I got news for you," Sam says, taking the binoculars from him, "There's no 'us' they want distracted. It's all you."

"I dunno about that. Word got around fast that this new fella Falcon had a mean swing," Steve says, and Sam smiles as he watches people go in and out of the base. 

"Well, either way, you're the one they want distracted. You put Natasha on why?"

"No. If she wants to help us that's one thing, but she has her own stuff to work out. I'm not going to demand more of her time than I already get."

"You looking for a pattern?"

"Maybe," Steve admits. 

There's a breeze from the wrong direction for just a second, but Sam's sensitive to these things. He freezes, wishing Steve's shield was chromed so he'd have a mirror to look in. Steve senses the stillness and freezes as well. 

"They have an electromagnet," a voice says above them, quietly. 

"Buck," Steve breathes. Sam catches his shoulder before he can turn to look.

"I can't go in," the voice continues. "My arm."

"Okay," Sam says neutrally.

"Don't take the shield."

"You got a plan?" Steve asks, his muscles cording under Sam's hand. 

"I'll lay cover from here. You flush them this way. I'll take them down. Falcon."

"Yeah," Sam says.

"Stay at least twenty feet above roof level. Be our eyes." 

"You got it."

"You gonna stay this time?" Steve asks. 

Silence from above.

"It's okay if you don't," Sam adds, and Steve growls almost inaudibly. "But we'd like you to."

The silences stretches out.

"Rendezvous at your safe-house," the voice says, finally. "I'll be there by 1800 or not at all. Get going."

Steve takes off through the underbrush, heading towards the wide grassy expanse between the treeline and the base. Sam heads left, leaps off a low cliff, and hits the air, heart lifting. He has his wings, and Steve will have what he needs this evening, maybe. 

"Hey Sam," Steve says into his comm, as Sam rises over the base. 

"Yeah?"

"Let's give 'em a scare, huh?"

Sam grins. "Got your earplugs in?"

"Hit it." 

Tony Stark passed them a new toy, something he calls a shatterhorn, which was apparently in development before he got out of the arms business. Hook it up to an iPod and it blasts the music of your choices at levels loud enough to make ears bleed, but only in one direction, like a super-futuristic soundwave ray. It's mounted to Sam's belt, and Steve has a targeting button; as soon as Sam sees him toss it onto the roof of the building, he taps the iPod strapped to his arm, already queued up to the Cap playlist. Aretha Franklin's infamous civil rights anthem blasts down on Hydra like the voice of a goddess of vengeance. 

_Liberation, liberation, liberation, liberation_  
_Gonna pick up a shield and get me some liberation_  
_If I gotta put a star on my chest for my babies_  
_Gonna get me, get me, get me liberation_

Hydra comes pouring out of the building, up onto roofs, through every door, clutching their heads, terror in their bodies.

 _Liberation, liberation, liberation, liberation_  
_Gonna march in the streets for my liberation_  
_Gonna carry a flag like it oughta carry me_  
_Gonna get me, get me, get me liberation_

They're firing at Sam but he dodges easily, too high up the be a good target, and so they don't notice Steve practically among them, laying bombs, until the bombs start going off. What soldiers and staff are in the area start to flock towards the Soldier's location. Sam can't hear the zip-zip-zip of a sniper rifle, but he can see people begin to fall. 

Sam unstraps his guns and begins laying Steve's cover, swooping, diving, completely free. 

_Liberation, liberation, liberation, liberation_  
_Bearing the shield of our nation's liberation_  
_Got our own Captain and we gonna be free_  
_Gonna get us, get us, get us liberty_

 

**Patsy Cline - White Stars In The Sky**

They reach the safe-house (realistically, the hotel room) around 1730. Steve is anxious and fidgety, but then Sam pulls off his shirt and finds a pair of bullet grazes he didn't even notice he had, and Steve settles right down.

"Sit," Steve says, easing him onto the edge of the bed, opening the first-aid kit they've taken to carrying with them. He shoves a package of protein goo at Sam and begins the process of cleaning his wounds with steady, sure hands. Sam eats the goo and tries not to pass out, grateful when Steve finishes and begins winding gauze around his arm. 

Steve, kneeling in front of him, looks up and asks, "Do you need to go to the hospital?" 

"Don't think so," Sam says. 

"Are you sure, Sam?" Steve asks. Then, with that sad smile he's had so often lately, "Can't lose my best soldier." 

If he bent his head a few inches, they'd be kissing. Sam ducks his head away instead. "Yeah, just need some rest. I -- "

There's a scratch at the door, and Steve rises, glancing at him. Sam picks up his gun, just in case, as Steve checks the window and then opens the door. There's a shadow on the doorstep. 

"Bucky," Steve says softly. 

"Steve," the Soldier answers. 

"Come in?" Steve asks, painful hope in his voice. 

"Why?"

"I'd like to speak with you. I'd like to see you, make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Don't touch me."

"I won't, I promise. Please, please come in."

Steve steps back, and Bucky Barnes walks into the room. 

Sam thinks of the old Patsy Cline song. _There are two more white stars in the sky tonight,_ she sang. _Every boy that's fallen should shine so bright._

Barnes looks at Sam, at the bandage, at the gun, and Sam sets it on the blanket cautiously. Steve closes the door. 

 

**Green Day - If I Were Captain America**

Bucky Barnes turns out to be highly functional in combat, and very troubled outside of it. He's hypervigilant, paranoid, and traumatized -- Sam's seen a few vets with problems like his, but not many. Men and women in Barnes' condition usually spend a while in a VA psych hospital before they make it to people like Sam. 

Barnes barely blinks, his fingers twitch, and he has a hard time speaking at first. He can't bear to be touched by Steve, but -- wild-eyed -- he lets Sam look him over. His arm's not working right, but he's clearly found workarounds, and fixes are going to have to wait for further study. He eats whatever's given to him, mechanically. He sleeps on his side, curled around his rifle, unmoving, and Sam and Steve share the other bed, to give him space. Sam forces himself to relax and sleep, because he knows Steve won't. 

The next day, after Sam puts Barnes in the shower and orders him to wash himself, Steve frets and paces as he tries to decide what to do. They really should go check in on the base; they left half the Hydra agents dead and the other half secured in their own cells, then called in the tattered remains of SHIELD to sweep up after them, but Steve likes to make sure cleanup goes smoothly. On the other hand, they need to get Bucky somewhere safe, and they very clearly need to get him some help. 

By the time the water shuts off in the shower, Sam is done letting Steve run this operation, because Steve's clearly not fit right now to do so.

"Hey," he says, and Steve stops running his hands through his hair, looking up. "Call Coulson, or whoever he put in charge of cleanup this week."

"One of the Koenig boys," Steve mutters.

"Okay, so call Koenig and tell him you can't be in on this cleanup, but you want a full report, including an itemized recovery list," Sam says. "You got an unexploded bomb in there," he says, gesturing at the bathroom, "and that needs taking care of. We're gonna load Barnes into the car and take him back to my place, get our shit together, and figure this out."

"What if he won't go?" Steve asks, looking agonized.

"Then he won't go, I told you -- "

"I'll go," a voice from behind him says. Barnes is standing in the doorway, trousers on, towel over his head. Without his shirt, they can see the seam between arm and flesh for the first time. It's much more extensive than Sam expected, and more brutal. The prosthetic extends halfway down his torso from his shoulder, and the skin around it is knotted with scars, angry and red. There's a sharp inhale and a choke from Steve. 

Fine fucking time for Captain America to fall apart, Sam thinks ruefully, but then this is sort of his area of expertise. 

"Well, that's good," Sam says, keeping his eyes on Barnes', hooded, glittering under the shadow of the towel. "You got a stash we need to pick up on the way?"

Barnes shakes his head. He glances at the rifle, then back to Sam. 

"Okay. Break down your gear and pack it up," Sam says. "Steve, get your shit, make a little room in your duffel for the rifle. I'm gonna clean out the car."

The other men nod -- Steve eagerly, Barnes jerkily -- and Sam gives them room to work. He puts his phone on the front seat with the music playing; clears off the back seat, organizes the trunk, and breathes deep to calm himself. He does smile when he hears the punky riffs of If I Were Captain America, and hums along.

_If I were Captain America would I be worth your time_  
_Would you be nicer to me, would you be kind_  
_If I were Captain America would you come save the world with rock'n'roll_  
_Save the world, save the country, save my fuckin' soul_

 

 **Elvis Presley - Cap Hop**

Driving home is awkward. Steve is clearly terrified to speak and Bucky doesn't seem talkative. Sam makes Steve drive to give him something to do, and fiddles with the radio, looking for something that's not auto-programmed top forty or country-western. 

"Aw, Christ," Steve says, making both Sam and Bucky startle, when Sam finds a golden oldies station. The first strains of an old Elvis song are just emerging, but it takes Sam until the lyrics start up to figure out why. 

_It's the Fourth of July do the Cap Hop_  
_Rockets in the sky do the Cap Hop --_

"I don't like to call things stupid," Steve says, "but this song is just stupid."

"I think it's catchy," Sam says, and starts head-bopping along to it. " _Everybody's hoppin, flag's a snap-boppin, do the Cap Hop!_ "

Steve rolls his eyes and Sam puts his whole upper body into the dancing when suddenly from the back seat comes a terrible rusty noise like a broken lawnmower, which is Bucky Barnes, laughing.

"They named a dance after you," he says, and Steve blinks in the rearview mirror. "They named a DANCE after YOU!"

Steve blinks once more and then he's laughing too, wiping tears of mirth off his cheeks, laughing so hard he has to pull the car over and rest his forehead on the steering wheel. 

"You wanna let me in on the joke?" Sam prompts. 

"Steve can't dance," Bucky wheezes. 

"For real?" Sam asks Steve.

"I was always waitin' for the right partner," Steve manages, before he squeaks off into another laugh. 

Sam looks back and forth from Bucky to Steve and mutters "White boys," under his breath, which just makes Steve laugh harder.

 

**Crosby Stills Nash & Young - Sweet Sleeping Steven**

Back at Sam's place, after a day of driving and a lot of rest stops, Steve puts Bucky in his room while Sam unpacks and vaguely, silently frets that the super-traumatized POW in his guest room is going to snap and try to murder the neighbors or something. He knows it's unrealistic to think that way, but he's never dealt with someone quite as volatile as Bucky Barnes right now. 

"Sleeping?" Sam asks, when Steve walks out into the living room, rubbing his face. 

"I think so. Wants me to think he is, if not," he replies, coming around the kitchen island and pouring himself a glass of water. His hand shakes as he drinks, and he sets it down carefully. 

"I don't feel well," he says, and then drily, "been a long time since I got sick." 

"Stress crash," Sam replies. "Took a lot of energy to get here. You've been running on fumes for months." 

Steve heaves a breath in, like he's suffocating, and Sam knows better than to think he'll ask so he just goes, wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders and pulls his head down. Steve clings to him, shuddering so violently it almost knocks them both off their feet, and honest-to-god whimpers. 

"I don't know what happens now," he admits into Sam's shoulder. 

"Hey, like I do? No reason we should," Sam says. "You're fast on your feet, it'll be fine."

"I kept thinking about -- I kept thinking, after we find him, all the -- stupid life stuff, finding a place, sorting out my whole damn, my whole life, I kept thinking it could all wait and now it's all here waiting and there's him and I don't -- I said when I found him -- but I'm scared, Sam."

"We'll figure it out. We got three heads now," Sam points out. "You're the tactician, you'll get it."

"Strategy rarely survives first contact with the enemy," Steve manages, pulling away, swiping at his eyes. "Sorry. You keep putting up with me, I honestly don't know why."

"Well, it's not easy," Sam agrees. "But it's a lot of fun." 

Steve gives him a weak smile. 

"And I like you," Sam says. The smile falters. "I bet I like him too, once he's a little less...."

"A little less," Steve agrees. And then before Sam can move he's got Sam's face in his hands and they're kissing awkwardly, hunched up against the kitchen island, tired and gritty from the car and _this is probably just panic, he's freaked out._

"I said to myself when we found him I'd take him and go somewhere so we wouldn't be your problem anymore," Steve says, still crowding him against the counter. "But I can't do it, Sam, I can't give you up, not even for him." 

"Hey, whoa, slow down," Sam says, and Steve backs away when he puts his hand on his chest, goes easily -- Steve has always gone easily for him, and maybe he should've read that sign a little clearer. 

"Sorry, that's -- oh my God, I'm appalling," Steve gasps. 

"Steve!" Sam grips his shirt. "Breathe, man." 

Steve nods, breathing, pale blue eyes fixed on him. 

"You were waiting?" Sam said.

"Not -- waiting. Pining?" Steve suggests wildly. "I don't do well with romance, and maybe you weren't interested. I just thought it was a crush, it'd go away eventually, but I keep thinking about leaving and I. I can't, Sam." 

It's so ridiculous. Their lives have been so filled with fear and violence and grief. Sam hasn't felt like this for anyone since Riley and that loss nearly destroyed him. Steve is naive and reckless; his best friend needs more help than either of them can provide. Steve is a doorway back to a life Sam missed when he left it, but he knew it could wreck him if he went back. 

Too late, really. Too late when the big dumb golden retriever showed up on his doorstep with a spy trailing after and a price on his head. 

Pleasure wells up inside Sam, and then joy, the remembered feeling of being in love. Because none of that matters. He gives Steve the brightest smile he knows how to give, and pulls him in again so their foreheads are touching. 

"You don't have to go," he says. "Please don't go."

"Sam, you don't know -- "

"Don't feed me that bullshit," Sam interrupts. He feels Steve twitch, opens his eyes to see him smiling, still pale but relieved. "Go sit down," he adds, and Steve settles on the couch, watching him curiously. Sam grabs a blanket from the closet in the hall, settles down next to Steve, and huddles them close together, using the blanket to trap Steve's ever-present surplus body heat. 

"Rest," he says. 

"We'll talk after though?" Steve asks.

"Yeah. Later. Rest now," Sam orders.

"You too," Steve says, sliding an arm over his shoulders, settling them deeper into the couch. Sam hums quietly, an old song, and feels Steve smile against his shoulder. 

_Wherever you sleep, sleep deep_  
_I'll stand the watch till you've woken,_  
_And if you don't wake, sweet Steven_  
_Know that the battles you've fought were all won;_  
_The chains that you hated are broken._

 

**Katy Perry - I Wanna Be With Captain America**

Natasha must have figured out they found Bucky, because when they wake up, Steve has a text from Clint Barton: a name, a phone number, and _He helped me out._

Steve is on the phone with the therapist before Sam is even fully lucid, pacing around the living room, arranging for a house call, giving the scheduler his insurance information. Bucky appears in the bedroom doorway looking rumpled and defensive, watches Steve through narrowed eyes for a minute, gives Sam a look that clearly says Steve is _his_ problem right now, and goes to the kitchen to pour himself some juice. Steve, wrapped up in the phone call, doesn't notice him until Bucky drops down on the couch next to Sam, and then he freezes. Sam gives Steve a little wave -- _it's fine, he's not gonna kill me_ \-- and Bucky slurps his juice. 

"I don't recall a whole lot," he says to Sam, quietly, "but I don't gotta, to know he's _insane._ "

"You'll get used to it," Sam says, and then realizing the absurdity of the situation, adds, "Again."

"That I do remember," Bucky says, and his lips curl a little. "Hostage for life to Steve Rogers and his bananas." 

Sam grins. He could get to like the guy. And someone's got to be normal for Bucky since obviously Steve is a wreck right now. Steve hangs up the phone and just stands there, looking at Bucky, who's looking at him. 

"So, I'm gonna go on a food run," Sam announces, after a long moment of dark, angstful staring. They both look at him. "Not much in the house, you eat like a machine, we gotta get him like a million cups of pudding," he says, jerking his thumb at Bucky. 

"You want me to come with you?" Steve asks, looking half-hopeful, half-reluctant. 

"No, I got this." Sam stands and heads for the bedroom to change clothes. When he emerges, feeling a million times less gross just for having fresh underwear on, Steve is sitting on the coffee table in front of Bucky, their heads bent together, talking. Steve has a hand curled around Bucky's knee, which is progress of a sort. 

Steve glances up, whole paragraphs in the look he gives Sam. Sam nods, hoping he gets the message back. There will be time for talking (and more kissing, and maybe some making out, definitely making out at some point) later. 

In the car, the new Katy Perry single comes on, a saucy faux-anthem that makes Steve turn bright red whenever he hears it in a store or on the TV. Sam starts laughing, and decides he can risk singing along for a little while. 

_I wanna be with Captain America_  
_I wanna get what's under the flag_  
_Bet he smiles like a matinee idol_  
_When he's giving_

_Headlines say he's with a model_  
_Secretly dating god knows who_  
_Threesoming with Tony Stark_  
_I don't care, baby, you do you_  
_But..._

Sam whistles his way through his shopping, buying what feels like half the store, and just laughs when the checkout guy looks at the pounds of meat and loaves of bread, sacks of frozen veggies, gallons of milk and juice, boxes of ice cream, endless packages of instant pudding, and asks if he's having a party.

"Something like that," he says, and then, "Boyfriend's buddy just got home from combat, we're celebrating." 

"Well, have a beer for me," the guy says, and hands him his receipt. 

When he gets home, Steve and Bucky are waiting for him on the front step. They carry most of the groceries in, and when Steve takes the last bag of pudding from Sam, he deliberately brushes his fingertips up Sam's arm, eyes hooded, hilariously seductive. 

Sam thinks this is going to be fun, and hums to himself as he unpacks the groceries.

_Hawkeye's got it goin' on_  
_Black Widow'd turn a straight girl's head_  
_You could climb Thor like a freakin' tree_  
_Iron Man's a total hot dad_  
_But_  
_I wanna be with Captain America..._


End file.
